Waiting For Yesterday
by Trisl
Summary: Italy remembers it all, as if it were yesterday. But, maybe yesterday isn't what he should be paying attention to. HRE/Italy/Germany. Short little one-shot.


**A/N/: HELLO AGAIN. TWO UPLOADS IN ONE DAY? PFFTTT, FRUK YES.**

**No, i just needed to write something on the sad side, and this is what came out of it owo**

**Just a short little one-shot is all~ R&R is always 'preciated~**

**DESLAIMER: I do not own APH.**

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><p>The tears kept falling.<p>

He wasn't entirely sure what for at this point, but he knew he didn't want to stop. Releasing the built up sadness was his condolence, the one thing that made him feel better.

He looked up from the sink, into the mirror, letting his reflection unfold to his eyes. He hated his looks, in all reality. Everything from his creamy, flawless skin to his amber eyes. Red, auburn hair that always seemed to be in those eyes and that stupid little curl that never left.

A sob left his lips.

He knew he could never change the way he looked.

Not because he couldn't. Oh, he could easily change the colour or style of his hair, get contacts. He knew he wouldn't be able to simply because if he did, _he _wouldn't recognize him.

Another sob. He looked away.

Feliciano stared into the porcelain sink before leaning backwards and sliding along the wall until his butt hit the floor. He cradled his face in his hands and let the tears cascade down his cheeks.

He didn't know what to do anymore.

Every day he felt his heart break a little more. Every morning he'd think to himself, _'Maybe today's the day.'_ And every night, right before he went to sleep, he'd shed a tear for the hope that disappeared with the sun.

A never-ending cycle of sadness.

The ache in his chest grew with each passing day, each month, each year. Every time he'd see a blond head of hair, his heart would skip a beat, only to ice-over moments later. It wasn't him. It never was. It wasn't the one who would always be on his mind, always be in his dreams.

His first love.

Holy Roman Empire.

Lifting his head, the Italian leant back against the wall and let a strangled sob escape from his lips. He shouldn't feel this way; he should give up. Let go. He couldn't let the memory of a forgotten love continue to break him.

Then again, you can't break what's already broken.

Sighing, he closed his eyes. He should be happy. He had Ludwig and Kiku now, and so many other friends. He had his brother, he was in good health, and his nation was prospering.

Yet, he couldn't be happy.

Leaning forward, Feli pressed his forehead to his knees. He should be happy. He had every reason to be.

A lost love shouldn't affect him this much.

He closed his eyes. His head was swimming with so many thoughts, he couldn't even begin to process them all. He hated that he was still crying- sobbing and sniveling on his bathroom floor over someone that probably didn't exist anymore.

But, he knew, that very same person was the only thing that could make everything okay.

He needed to be held. He needed someone to tell him that everything _would_ be alright. Feliciano knew, somewhere deep within him, that he might never hear those words.

Even if he did, he wouldn't believe them.

He realized then, sitting on his bathroom floor, crying his heart out that no one really knew him. If tomorrow, he walked up to Ludwig and said 'I cried last night over someone I used to love,' how would he react? Would he laugh, say 'that's ridiculous, Feliciano.'? Would he turn away and pretend he didn't hear him? He certainly wouldn't console him. Ludwig wasn't one for feelings.

Hell, sometimes Feli wondered if the German had a heart.

He froze.

Fresh tears spilled over his eyes.

What was wrong with him?

Ludwig was one of the sweetest, most caring people he'd ever met. Could he truly believe that he didn't have a heart? He'd risked his life for him on so many occasions, been there for him when no one else had. Feliciano sobbed again, clenching his chest with his hand.

Ludwig was the one holding his hand when he couldn't find his way.

Feli closed his eyes tightly, shaking his head. A small, sad smile graced his lips. How could he have been so stupid? For years, he'd been crying over his lost love, the blue-eyed warrior who stole his heart.

In the process, he over-looked the blue-eyed angel who was slowly bringing it back.

Standing from the floor, the Italian wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and took a deep breath, turning to walk out of the room. He shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be wallowing in an eternal sadness over something that happened so long ago.

He shouldn't be ignoring what's right in front of him.

Once in the hallway, he wiped at his eyes once more and let a soft, aloof smile take over his face, his eyelids closing ever so.

He held his head up high, as if the episode never happened.

_Take a step, breathe._

The new tomorrow starts today.


End file.
